


My Muse

by DaenerysSnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Catelyn was nice to him, Dany had a nice father, Dany helps him, F/M, Jon and Dany are students at The Royal Academy of Music, Jon is Ned's son, Jon lost his passion, Jonerys Secret Santa, Pretty hard actually, They are both crushing on each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 07:06:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13141563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaenerysSnow/pseuds/DaenerysSnow
Summary: Jon Snow is a student of The Royal Academy of Music in London, who lost his motivation to compose and play after his parents' deaths. An encounter with a fellow aspiring musician - Daenerys Targaryen - who he just happens to have a crush on is the moment his breaththrough happens.





	My Muse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oadara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oadara/gifts).



Jon sighed as he brought his palm to his face, trying to rub the exhaustion away from his closed eyes. Bringing his hand down, sliding it across his mouth, he decided he needed another cup of the disgusting coffee the little place had to offer. Disgusting it might be, but it was also strong, and that was exactly what he needed now to help him stay awake and finish the damn thing.

He looked out the window, where winter was in its full power. Snow was falling heavily, and children were picking it off the cars they were passing by, marking the whole city with their handprints. The road was pretty much a swamp, and drivers were careful not to lose control on the slippery surface. It seemed like everyone was in a hurry, trying to find the best deals, the best gift ideas, afraid someone else might get it all instead. The closer the 25th was, the busier the streets got. Jon had to send all of the presents a while back, to Scotland where his siblings lived, and he wasn’t planning on a big feast, so he could just sit there in that cafe, toying with a pen, waiting for something to hit him.

Studying at the Royal Academy of Music had been his dream since he could remember, and he never regretted the decision of joining the elite group of their students until now. Jon has always wanted to be a musician, everybody knew it and they also knew that he actually had great chances of making this dream a reality. When he wa just a kid, you could always find him in the corner of their surprisingly clean attic, where Catelyn’s old piano stood, then abandoned and covered with dust and soon brought back to life with Jon’s little hands and the awful sounds they were making, annoying the hell out of Robb and Sansa, and making little Arya and Bran wake up from their sleep. When he got in, he couldn’t control his excitement. He would be having piano, organ and composition lessons in the best college he could think of. That would open so many door for him, all he had to do was work hard each and every day. And he did, he really did.

But now all classes seemed to last forever, as he could not focus on what the teacher was saying or bring himself to practise. He couldn’t even be happy about the winter break as they were told to compose something of their own - a reasonable request for seniors of that prestigious academy, but Jon could not bring himself to even start.

Ned and his wife Cat were the best parents any child could wish for. His father was the definition of honorable and just, a rare thing in their world and times and the moral figure he hoped he took something from. Catelyn wasn’t Jon’s mother - he was Ned’s child by a woman he knew before her - but she might as well have been. When he was left on their door, an infant just a few months older than her own firstborn son Robb, she took him and loved him and never held any hard feelings towards him. But anytime someone asked why he had a different surname - Snow instead of Stark, as his real mother decided, he still felt a sting of not being one of them - the Starks.

And now they were both gone. They died in a car accident on their way back to Scotland, as they were visiting Jon in his campus . The whole thing still seemed surreal to Jon. They just got in the car, drove away and would never get to the destination.

He was looking around to see if the waiter was anywhere near him, when someone stepped in front of him, clearing their throat, making his head turn in their direction. And when he did, he had to stop himself from gasping out loud.

There stood Daenerys Targaryen in all her silver hair and violet eyes glory, making his stomach twist and his whole body tense. She was looking straight at him, and the little smile her lips formed was another punch to his guts.

Jon could still remember vividly the first time he saw Dany in the Royal Academy halls back in their freshman year, and the happiness when he found out she was on the same year and would be having piano classes with him. At first it was just an attraction that turned into something more as he saw more of her personality, heard her play the piano or sing in her angelic voice, when he found himself wandering to her vocal lessons or during college events. Or when he heard her just simply talk with her best friend Missandei. She was gorgeous, intelligent, good, confident, ambitious and talented, and soon enough Jon was head over hills for her. 

He was forced to awake from his thought as she made a surprised expression, flexing her eyebrows in the way only Daenerys Targaryen could, not noticing the change is his form or deciding to ignore it. “Jon, I had to make sure it was really you! I thought you would be in Scotland. Is this seat taken?“ she asked,looking at him questiongly, one brow still up. He tried to swallow whatever suddenly appeared in his throat. They had piano classes together, so it’s not as if they were strangers, he could act friendly without making it weird, right?

He blinked a few times, as if he was trying to make sure he wasn’t dreaming without pinching himself. When he decided this had to be actually happening, the butterflies in his stomach stirred as he shook his head. “Um, hi! No, si-, I mean, you can sit, I mean, if you want to. ” he forced out.

_Great job, Jon._

She smiled a bit wider, not commenting on the awkwardness she heard in his voice, which he was thankful for. She hung her bag on the arm of the chair and having taken her faux leather gloves off, she proceeded to take off her checked scarf and unbutton her black coat, leaving it on, her grey sweater now on display. He realized he’d been staring and quickly looked back to his almost empty music sheets, his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.

“Composing?” she asked, her curious eyes following his. He didn’t know why her seeing his work and his struggles made him uncomfortable to the point he considered hiding it all in his bag, away from those wide pupils. _Wait. They are wide. Doesn’t that usually mean…_

He stopped his thoughts from getting more ridiculous as he shifted in his chair, and lifted his left hand to the back of his neck. “Well, yes. You know, for class.” His response came out a lot lower and more quietly than he meant it to. He dropped his hand that was rubbing against the warm skin of his scruff, and started playing with the now empty cup.

Recognition crossed her soft face. “Oh, right. The same thing Missandei is working on day and night. Even though she says it’s supposed to be short.” she shook her head, amusement clear in her voice. Missandei was Daenerys’ best friend, that much anyone could have got right after seeing them just once. They were close before coming to college and stayed together for all those years. Jon was in their piano classes, where they always behaved more like sisters than friends, and he heard that during their vocal classes, they made the perfect pair for any duet. Anyone would say they were tied together for good, but when Dany had her strings practises, Missandei went to composing lectures, the same ones that Jon attended.

Daenerys stopped and glanced at the table once more. “Not feeling inspired?” she asked, noticing how little he’d been able to come up with. And little did she know, he wasn’t even happy with what he had on there.

He shrugged, the butterflies calming down a bit after having exchanged a few sentences with her without making it too humiliating. “I guess not. Christmas preparation might have got the best of me.” he moved his shoulders once more, trying desperately to seem calm and laid back, not wanting her to see that the Christmas fever was not at fault whatsoever. “It’s all so tiring.” That much was true, the upcoming celebrations really did make it harder to sleep, but as he was not a part of the crazy shopping, it was not the reason for his recent insomnia.

“Is that all?” she seemed to be trying to be very careful with her words, as she fidgeted her joined hands on the table. He was about to ask her what she meant, when the waiter came up to them, noticing the newcomer.

She ordered a simple green tea and Jon asked for another cup of black coffee. When the man left, she wrinkled her nose and with genuine curiosity and disgust she said: “’Another’ cup? Meaning you drank it once and want more? Are you a masochist?”

He laughed lowly, adjusting himself on the chair. “It’s awful, yes, but I need to get this-” he pointed his finget at the sheets spread actoss the shiny wooden surface, “- done. And that’s the strongest coffee I can imagine.”

“That much I can agree on. Still not worth it in my opinion, though.” She put her elbows on the table, crossing her arms and resting her palms on her biceps.

“So, about your composing. You never used to have any problems, not from what I can remember.” When they had finals, they had to play something on the piano for the teacher to hear, and he always chose to perform his own work, something not many dared to do. After that, Dany would often ask him about it in the hall, congratulating him, which always made Jon feel like he was on the cloud nine, something Sam would tease him about for weeks.

Jon noticed she was much more confident about the topic now, coming bac to the usual self. But he was still not willing to go any deeper into the matter.

“Yeah, I guess. Stuff happens. Maybe I need to retire” he tried to crack a joke, hoping to change the subject to a one he could actually let himself speak freely about.

Maybe some rest would suffice” she shot back.”Caffeine won’t replace a good night sleep, you know. And spending Christmas alone doesn’t compare to being with your family.” She was smiling as she said it, but he knew she was not being casual about it in the slighest. Noticing the confusion in his eyes, she sighed and moved her arms, resting her head on her palm. “I have eyes. I can see you during classes and I noticed you being so…distant. And now I see you here, when Sam told me and Missandei you were leaving to Scotland for Christmas, struggling to compose. _You_ struggling to compose!” she was genuinely worried, he noticed.

“Why do you care?” he didn’t mean to be offensive or rude, he really meant the question. They were close enough for him to call her his friend, they sometimes were assigned to work together, they went out with a whole group many times, but he couldn’t remember ever even having a real, deep talk conversation alone.

She looked to her left, where the same waiter was just coming up with their order, the strong smell of his coffee, forcing them back to the crowded cafe. She flashed a beautiful smile at the man, and lifted the cup to her soft lips, as he was leaving. He watched her take a sip and it was only when she put the cup down that she responded.

“Because I know what it’s like, Jon.”

_Ah, yes._

She knew that it was his parents’ death that did this to him, it was probably obvious, he now realized. And she has been through something similiar herself. Back in their sophomore year, her father and one of her two brothers - the older one, Rhaegar - were shot in some incident in one of the the city centres of London. That left her alone with Viserys, as their mother died giving birth to her. They came from a rich family, so they were able to keep their lives together in that matter, but Jon knew it crushed her mentally, as Ned and Cat’s deaths crushed him those few months ago.

He remembered that she had problems playing piano, as if the pain had blocked all of her abbilities, making her unable to do anything other that grieve. He noticed that the same thing could be said about him in the first weeks after he found out. But when Dany came back a month after the funeral, she was back in the game, laughing quietly during classes with Missandei, seemingly leaving the past behind. That was the part Jon was not able to get to yet. And it’s been past five times the time it took her.

She leaned in a little bit, her arms again on the table. “I wanted to talk to you as soon as I heard about the accident, but Sam didn’t think it was a good idea. You didn’t even want to see him so I had no chances.”

That’s where you’re wrong.

“What makes you think you have any chances now?” Again, he didn’t mean the words to come off as harsh, he really wanted to know what made her go into this subject today.

Maybe she knew him better than he thought, as she didn’t seem to be offended at all, as if she knew there were no negative emotions behind his words, nothing other than pure curiosity.

“I didn’t actually. I didn’t even know you were still in the country. Much less in this very cafe” she smiled and took another sip. “Perhaps someone up there wanted me to talk to you either way.”

“What is there to talk about?” His voice couldn’t get any lower. He brought his palm to the hot cup, not bringing it up to his lips just yet. “Maybe it’s what was meant to happen. Maybe I was not supposed to become a musician” he shrugged.

She extended her arm, covering his big hand, the one not holding the coffee, with her petite one. “No, Jon. You know that’s not true. You already are a musician. You were born for it. This is just a setback, one you can overcome. How many great composers who have experienced grief and came back stronger, using the feelings for their work have we learned about?

”He knew she wasn’t expecting an answer, but he started thinking of one either way. “Well, quite a few. I would go with eig-”.

She gave him a pointed look, that made him close his mouth at once, stopping the little sarcastic music lesson he had planned.He took a big sip of his black coffee, trying hard not to show any signs of his displeasure on his face face, knowing he probably failed completely.

"You're missing the most important point. I'm not one of these guys" he said a bit louder, his voice still much lover than the tone she was using. He looked up to catch her rolling her eyes. Not in a rudely annoyed way, it reminded him of all those times Missandei was stressed about finals, freaking out she hadn't been studying or practising enough, when everyone knew she would end up with the best grades on their year.

"I'm sure they all were just born and had an easy way towards being musical legends before them since day one" she shot back sarcastically, her head tilted a bit to her right, making his attention go to her hair, the wet and somehow still beautiful mess in her head. The pale curls were forced to lay flat on her head, brought down by the now liquid snowflakes.

He let out a little bit of air with his nose, making an amused sound. “You know what I mean” he replied, taking the cup up once more for another sip, this time doing a better job of keeping straight face.

She sighed and took her hand, joining it with the other one in the air, elbows on the table. “When my dad and brother died, I thought it was the end of my musical career. How could I ever just come back?” her eyes drifted to her left, her head being filled with memories of that time.

He tilted his head, watching her. “But you did.”

She nodded, her eyes coming back to looking at him. “I know sharing your feelings is not your forte, so listen to me talk about mine” she said, flashing a wam smile, making the fogotten butterflies in his stomach stir. He made a little movement with his head, telling her to go on. “I lost my passion for music then as well. It just didn’t bring me the same joy anymore.”

He shifted in the uncomfortable seat, not taking his eyes off her for even a split second. He might have imagined it, but he could swear her eyes followed the movement of his arms, seemingly admiring the muscles visible through the tight long sleeve dark grey shirt.

“As you know, I don’t compose. My struggle was with bringing myself to practise piano or vocal, I couldn’t make a single right sound, it was driving the proffesors crazy. You’ve only seen half of it in the piano classes” she chuckled. “I was late to almost all my classes, because I couldn’t sleep at night. I see you share some of those symptoms” she looked pointedly to the dark circles under his eyes and then the bug cup of coffee still in his hands.

“What made you come back to normal so quickly?” A month was probably a lot of time to stop being a zombie, and just start living with grief like a normal human being, but to him it seemed abnormally short.

“I know everyone grieves differently, but I’ve never heard of someone act like a shell of themselves for over five months. Maybe what I’m about to go into a speech about won’t work, but if there’s even a slight chance it will, I’m willing to risk making a fool out of myself.”

She took a deep breath. “My dad did everything he could to help me make my dream come true. He bought me a piano when I was five, he hired a vocal tutor, took me out to every classical music concert that was happening in England. The day I got in to the academy, it was as if he completed his live mission. Rhaegar was the one I would come to when I left like I was not on the right way to that dream, the one who would listen to me play or sing along with my dad. They supported my wholeheartedly. As I know your parents supported you” she stopped and looked at him expectingly, waiting for him to confirm her statement.

He cleared his throat, covering the effect that her words had on him. He would have lied if he said the fact that she was sharing her story and emotions with him didn’t please him greatly. “Yes, they did. Though not as much as Sam’s parents support him” he joked.

She laughed, knowing that Samwell Tarly’s parents were not so much supportive as they were demanding. Mr ans Mrs Tarly decided one day that their son would be a great musician, and since he was little he had to fill in the dreams of his family, never being asked once what he wanted. And Sam had no real interest in music, much less classical music, but with a little bit of knowledge and his family’s connections, he got in to one of the best colleges a musician can dream of being a student of. He was not the best in organ playing, but he was surprsingly good at conducting and he was the best student in the Academical Studied department.

“I don’t think anyone can beat them” she chuckled once more, before becoming a bit more serious. “My point is that I used the pain of their deaths as an excuse. But stopping my musical education was the worst kind of disrespecting their memory. I know it sounds cheesy, but they would never want me to give up, especially not because of them” she looked directly into his eyes, making sure the meaning of the words stuck with him. “Missandei always says that music is just another language, one that anyone can undestand, even though not everyone can speak it. But with this language you can express more than any words ever could. Love, joy, pain.”

He knew where she was going with that, and he looked down.

“You have a problem with pouring all your feelings onto your work. They are always beautiful, don’t get me wrong. They’re genius, but now you’re trying to write something in the same style, when your feelings are somewhere else entirely” she shook her head. “That’s not going to work, Jon.”

It was as if his soul was an open book she could just read anytime she wanted to. It made him feel exposed, open but somehow still incredibly comforted. Whatever happened, she would understand. How did she get to know him so well?“It seems like you’re stuck. You’re not longer in that severe pain, not for months now, but the artist inside you didn’t get the relief he needed” she continued, before face palming herslef a littte, making his eyebrows go up in surprise. “I’m sorry, I’m talking like some psychologist, when I have no qualifications or rights” she said, shaking her head in disapproval al herself.

He smirked and leaned down a little bit. “You’ may not be a psychologist, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear the rest of that lecture.

”Her smile was almost as curing as her wise words. “Just stop trying to hide your feelings in your work, they will be the thing to make them even more spectacular, trust me.” She thought for a second and then added: “And you should go to your family for Christmas. Spending them alone seems very depressing.”

His mind went to his half siblings. They would defintely be happy to see him, but should he just catch a train and appear out of nowhere? She must have noticed the conflict in his eyes.

“You still have a few days until 25th. I’m sure your presence will be the greatest gift they get. But before that, get some rest. _A lot of it._ If you still won’t be able to sleep, take some sleeping pills.” 

He hasn’t tried them yet, for stupid reasons. He almost _wanted_ to stay awake every night. Why? Maybe the physical pain helped him, he didn’t know.

She showed a little bit of her teeth, happy she was able to have some effect on him as she brought her tea to her lips, looking at her phone. “Oh! I must get going now.” She put the cup down, not taking a sip, and started putting her scarf on, buttoning her coat. When she was putting on her gloves, he spit out:

“Would you like to go out with me?”

She stopped in the middle of the process of putting her right glove on, and looked at him with a bit wide eyes.

“After Christmas, I mean. When I get back, before the classes start again” he continued nervously.

_God, what was he thinking? One talk and he thought he could just ask Danerys Targary-_

His thought were interrupted when she gave her answer. “With pleasure.” She was now done with dressing herself, and he could see a hint of smile under the checked scarf. “On one condition. Bring whatever you manage to come out with” she pointed to the sheets. 

This way she has just given him the best motivation she could. “Having someone give you your opinion on it before handing it should help you, right?” They both knew she just wanted to make sure he would compose something at all.

“It definitely will. Thank you, Daenerys” he gave her a full, genuine smile, and noticed her eyes go a bit wider. She cleared her throat, an action he recognized from his own struggles to hide his feelings before her.“So, call me when you’re back. Merry Christmas!” she waved and started walking towards the exit.

“Merry Christmas” he mumbled, a little shocked because of the whole situation. He looked down at the sheet, and immediately picked up the pen, suddenly feeling inspired.


End file.
